Drabblebending
by Arethusa the Nymph
Summary: A series of interesting Avatar drabblings! Adventure? Zutara? Romance? Kataang? Enlightenment? Fish? I dare you to read my ramblings... You won't be disappointed.
1. Zuko

I've had this account for a while now but I haven't posted **anything** on it, and I've begun to feel that _now_ is the time I should do so.

This, my first entry, is going to be a Drabble Story, comprised of numerous Avatar: The Last Airbender drabblings which just happen to pop up into my mind.

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To begin with, here is some very, very general drabble on That Banished Prince of the Fire Mongerers, **Zuko**.

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Zuko peered contemplatively through the curtains of his room at the bathhouse. Somehow his Uncle had sniffed the place out for them, and the spirits knew they'd needed the relaxation.

His golden eyes narrowed as he looked at the pink, blossoming sakura waving in the wind. For a reason unbeknownst to him, those blossoms aroused a strange anger and hate within his soul.

He wished fervently that he could escape the hate that so pervaded his veins, but it seemed that, no matter what he did, it persisted.

He closed his eyes of molten gold, roiling and glistening with pain so they were, and took in a deep, calming breath.

When he opened his eyes again, the sakura greeted him sweetly.

The breath escaped his lips in a sigh.

The delicate silken petals almost seemed too perfect, waving delicately in the breeze, every other stray petal coming loose from its blossom and fluttering gently away.

Perhaps they enraged him because of the innocence they represented--an innocence he seemed to have lost.

He closed his eyes.

His innocence.

But how could he have lost it? Was it really lying at the feet of his father, destroyed, disgraced, smoldering; burned as utterly as the left side of his face?

His eyes burned.

He lifted his right hand to touch the maimed skin over his left eye, running his fingers over the soft, discolored folds in a skilled caress.

His eyes burned.

He fell forward, his elbow striking the edge of the window, his body slumping against the wall.

His eyes burned so terribly.

And though his body heaved with anguish, he refused to let the hot tears come.

His eyes would have to burn ...

For eternity.

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	2. Ecstasy

Whichever Zuko pairing you like, you may insert. I had a certain pairing in mind while writing this, myself, but ... It's up to you. Hence the lack of name-mentioning.

Be warned; this content may not be suitable for younger viewers. I rate it Teen+.

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"I never thought I'd see you again," she murmured gently into his ear. She pressed herself closer to him, longing for his scent of warmth and storm.

His breath escaped him in a hot rush. "I never thought I'd see you again," he answered, reiterating her observation in a passionate whisper. His hands travelled over her soft waist, his fingers nestling in the warm crook just above her navel.

She sucked in a quick breath at the feeling of his touch--a touch she had gone without for far too long.

Eyes closed with a fluttering of lashes, she leant her head close to his neck, trailing her lips over his warm skin. Such warm skin... Warmer than could be deemed 'natural.' She sighed softly against his neck, her breath warm to match his skin.

The feeling that his life had suddenly regained meaning careened, uncontrolled, into his soul, crashing inside of him with a blunt force that literally shook the core of his being.

Her warm skin alone against him was enough to send him into a devolving wave of tremors. Now he could feel her soft lips brushing the now-hot skin of his neck, moving slowly up to his jawline...

The feelings! The feelings were enough to incapacitate him!

Cold shivers slipped down his spine and a great, burning weight centered itself within his chest. Hot and tense, cool and light... It was maddening!

He had to close his eyes, take in a soothing breath. No. He wouldn't let these long-missed feelings overwhelm him; not now. Now was not the time.

But her gentle hand clasped tighter against his opposite shoulder, and her head buried itself closer against his trembling skin.

No, she was trembling.

She was trembling.

Or was he trembling as well?

He was shivering almost imperceptibly against her. But then again, her shivers were strong enough to cause the illusion of his trembling, so she disregarded it. The only thing that mattered was that they were finally together again. Finally. She caressed his firm, tensed arm with her hand, breathing deeply of the smell of his skin, pushing herself closer to him.

He shifted, and she fell slowly, softly, gently against his front.  
Her body against his.  
Completely.

The breath he had been inadvertently holding escaped his lips in a shuddering gasp, and his hands slipped around her waist to hold her tight against him.

She made a soft noise that almost sounded like a controlled sob, pressing her arms over his shoulders and around his neck.

She cradled the back of his head, running her fingers over his soft black hair, her touch no longer obstructed by the old familiar obstacle.

He was drowning in her touch. He sincerely felt that he could quite possibly die from the utterly raw feeling that pervaded his veins.

It was for this reason that he spread his fingers out along her waist, running his heat-imbued hands over her skin slowly, enticing her to drown in the heat of the same feeling she'd been submitting him to.

She relented.

Waves of hot feeling slipped inside her as she felt him begin to caress her, his warm, long, powerful fingers training themselves close to her skin, pressing her even closer to his body.

His body! Blessed heat that was his body. She wanted to melt against the gentle, powerful heat that comprised him...

She wanted to melt into it, become a part of it, constantly within him and around him and upon him--always close to him, always near to him.

Her trembling intensified as his hands slipped up around her shoulder blades, the heat of his touch radiating through the thin fabric of her cut chemise.

She lifted her head to look into his eyes, her hair cascading down around her shoulders.

He was gazing at her.

His eyes were roiling with something hot, something molten. Churning.

His gaze was hungry. Starving. Parched and desirous, drinking her in with a thirst that was unimaginably intense, which simply added to its fiery power.

She gazed into those heavy-lidded eyes for an interminable amount of time, contemplating them, fastened to them by the heat and energy they radiated.

The feeling of desperate hands on her lower back caught her mind and detached her from his flaming eyes.

She responded to his touch by pressing her body against his in a slow but unmistakable grind, noting hazily the intensification of the stir in his eyes.

And the thirst extended itself to her, as she met his eyes once more.

It was as though the two of them couldn't satiate themselves with any of these desperate deliberations: no slow, tempting caresses or loving glances could satisfy.

The heat in his chest had long since expanded to fill his entire body.

She was suffocating in the heat that had suddenly discovered her.

He twisted his body up against her and lifted his head.  
He sought her lips with his, pushing her tight to his body.

He found them, and met them.

Her lips welcomed his, and the reserve of her soul melted at the heat he'd returned to her.

He felt her body calm against him as their lips touched together, and he allowed his mind a release, his soul a respite.

She was here.

He was here.

And love pervaded.

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	3. Love

Drabbling, drabbling.

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Poor, disillusioned Prince.

He had abandoned the only creature in the world that loved him for everything he was...

Had he only seen that love...

No.

Had he only accepted that love...

But royalty is used to getting its way.

Importance desires obedience, and cannot rest until it receives it.

In the case of the Prince, with his constant blindness to both subtlety and vague emotion, he'd shunned every chance and every opportunity he may have had to finally gather what he'd always wanted...

The love of a father.

That love was what his royal blood demanded; that love was what his royal blood had destroyed.

And ironically, the creature he'd abandoned, whose anguished face now swam tauntingly behind the Prince's heavy, tired eyelids, had been willing to bestow upon him that love...

No.

He had bestowed that love upon him.

And the Prince knew that, in the back of his mind.

Yet...

He refused to accept it.

Somehow, he continued to doubt the existence of that love.

Who could love him?

Why would anyone want to love him?

After so many years without compassion...

How could he understand the feeling of being loved?

Who could love him?

How could he have every felt love before?

_Mother..._

The Prince felt tears burn his weary eyes; he blinked away those wet embers with fervent distaste.

_No. Mustn't. No._

He didn't have love now.

Dwelling over past love wouldn't help him.

But...

But...

But that would mean that he had felt love, once before...

So why could he not feel it now?

Did someone love him?

_Uncle..._

The tears burned his throat, scalded his eyes.

A renegade escaped and trickled down his scathed left cheek.

_No! No!_

A smear of dirt disguised the rogue's damp trail; a moist left hand was the only evidence that remained of its life.

Why had he abandoned him?

Why had he felt so hampered by him?

Why?

Why?

The same question, _Why?_

_Why?_

_Who could love me?_

_Who?_

_And Why?_

_And why do I always choose to run... Why do I run from those who try?_

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Zuko is interesting...


	4. Arrogance

I haven't dabbled with this subject of drabble, yet...

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_Stupid fish._

They always found a way to evade him.

He jabbed the pointed edge of his boomerang back into the water, swirling the cool contents of the stream. He kept his eyes sharp, alert, hoping to spot another slippery morsel.

_Stupid fish._

_There!_

A glimmer, a sheen of silver flashing in reflection of the sun.

He lunged.

His body twisted in the air.

**Splash.**

He flailed; he spluttered.

He leapt up out of the water, grasping the handle of his weapon with intense anticipation.

_Do I dare?_

He stared at his hand, submerged in the water.

Lifting the boomerang forlornly from the cool stream, expecting defeat—as usual—he sighed.

**Flip, flop.**

_Oh, yes._

_Nice fish._

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Comment and review!


	5. Affection

I've wanted to do something similar to this for a while...

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She watched as the new one slept peacefully, curled over Appa's massive saddle.

It was not in her nature to feel jealous—especially over a small girl she barely knew—but somehow, she felt threatened.

The girl's small back moved slowly up and down with her calm breathing; her clouded eyes were closed in natural reflex.

_She doesn't even need to close her eyes_, mused the onlooker.

_She would be in darkness either way._

The onlooker narrowed her own eyes, her thoughts turning back to that strange feeling of danger, of anxiety that the small girl had created inside her.

Why?

What was this feeling?

It was strange, that was certain.

Why should she feel apprehensive about this girl? Why should she almost feel regret at allowing her to join the group?

Hadn't she suggested it herself?

But the longer she looked at the prodigy bender, the more threatened she felt…

What was this feeling!

Her heart began to pound in her chest; the moonlight reflected pale blue in her widened eyes.

She was trembling, trembling. And she couldn't pry her eyes from the girl…

She felt…

She felt…

She needed to run, to hide from whatever this feeling was; she needed to escape it, destroy it, suppress it. She needed to look away.

She couldn't.

Why couldn't she? What force held her eyes to that small girl's back, rising and falling so sweetly?

She forcibly twisted her head away, her light eyes flashing pools of sky in the night.

They stared over that massive saddle, into the deep nocturne over the bison's massive head: intense, determined….

Movement caught her glance, and she focused on the smooth shape of…

Head.

Their ringleader's head.

Smooth shaven, round; a head she'd cradled many times before—a head she knew.

Following their accustomed habit, her eyes searched for the familiar arrow-shape on his scalp.

But the darkness was all encompassing—too encompassing—and she lost sight of his defining feature in its murky, suffocating grasp.

_Much as she had lost sight of—_

She closed her eyes, but opened them shortly, desiring, somehow, to look at him again.

To know he was there.

It comforted her, somehow. Her pounding heart slowed.

But then she thought of the girl again, and her pulse quickened.

The feeling!

Why did she feel so threatened?

Why did she feel somehow endangered?

Her eyes were locked on him as she mused, locked on the familiar reassurance of his features, locked on the soothing warmth of his shale stare…

His stare?

His eyes!

Her gaze had drawn his own.

She blushed.

The night disguised her crimson-hued cheeks; it hid them from view.

_I … _

_I ……_.

She was tempted to break their stare.

She didn't.

He didn't.

Her pulse quickened again, remembering.

The darkness…

The stars…

Everything reminiscent of that moment…

Earth around them…

Light above them…

Earth.

_Earth._

Earth.

Earth made her think of the girl, sleeping so close to her.

The girl aroused the threat in her soul.

His eyes soothed her.

His familiar, friendly, devoted eyes…

_Devoted._

He was hers.

The girl's face flashed in her mind.

He was hers?

_Of course he's mine!_

The blush deepened; the night strove harder to conceal it.

Still their gaze connected.

_Will he always be mine?_

The girl's face flashed in her mind.

Her heart clenched with warning.

Chills.

A chill.

It shivered down her spine.

The chill of recognition…

She broke their gaze and looked out into the deep nocturne around them, losing sight of his features...

Losing sight of his shale eyes that shone even through the dark of night….

Losing his round, smooth shaven head; a head she'd cradled many times before.

A head she knew…

_A head her heart knew._

She lost sight of him.

_Much as she had lost sight of…_

_Of…_

Her heart pounded.

Her heart clenched.

_Her heart's recognition…_

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Intrigued?

Review.


	6. Desire

This drabble is inspired and dependent upon the poem "White Bee," by Pablo Neruda.

The stanzas of the poem will be in according format, quotations, and italics. My original writing will be in normal/bold font.

Also, there are two points of view in this analysis; keep this in mind whilst reading. The female will be in normal font, the male, bold.

Neruda is an amazing poet; I recommend reading his works if ever you get the chance. The published collection that includes this poem is called "Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair." Read!

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**Drunk With Smoke and Honey.**

"White Bee" by Pablo Neruda.

"_White bee, you buzz in my soul, drunk with honey,  
__and your flight winds in slow spirals of smoke."_

The wind captured my long hair, and I allowed it to swirl, rasping, into my face. So many long strands danced together, blinded me, pressed against my lips; I sucked in a breath, and hair followed, clasping my throat.

I coughed, peeling my rebellious locks from around my helpless face, pressing them behind my ears. The cool breeze kicked up again, having never died, and tickled the base of my chin, caressed my neck.

I closed my eyes, breathing it in.

**I watched her.**

**Although she was unaware, she seemed to sense my gaze upon her, for the energy that surrounded her seemed to suddenly tense and grow anxious.**

**It had been so long since I had last seen her.  
****So long.**

**I was overwhelmed by her; she was everything.  
****And I knew that I was her everything.  
****So why couldn't I reveal myself?  
****Why was I hiding?**

"_I am the one without hope, the word without echoes,  
__he who lost everything and he who had everything."_

I heard my name being called from a long way off—my name in a whisper, my name in the distant voice of the wind…

"_Last hawser, in you creaks my last longing…"_

I looked up, my hair still dancing in the wind that so called me, turning my wide, glistening eyes to search for the breeze-voice.

**Ah! She was beautiful! Always beautiful, regardless…**

"_In my barren land you are the final rose.  
__Ah you who are silent!"_

My heart fluttered, a nervous butterfly in my chest.  
I smelled warmth and storm…  
I felt…  
I felt… him.

My eyes pressed shut, and I felt the wet heat of tears lace my eyelashes; the wind carried him to me, and I saw him through closed eyes.

"_Let your deep eyes close. There the night flutters.  
__Ah your body, a frightened statue, naked…"_

I trembled in the cool grasp of the breeze. My clean robes felt suddenly threadbare as I fully sensed his eyes upon me. His burning presence… His burning eyes…

**She healed me. Sitting there, she healed my tormented heart…  
****Had I done what was right? Had I forsaken all that mattered?  
****I didn't care.  
****There she was, there she was…**

"_You have deep eyes in which the night flails.  
__Cool arms of flowers and a lap of rose…  
__Ah you who are silent!"_

**She blossomed in my vision like a fragile angel…  
****So strong in reality, so fragile in the wind…**

**I stepped into the courtyard, drawn to her.  
****Drawn by her.  
****Unable to resist her…**

There.  
My eyes turned to fix upon him.  
There.

"_Here is the solitude from which you are absent.  
__It is raining. The sea wind is hunting stray gulls..."_

**I showed myself to her, and she saw me.  
****She saw me, and she stood.  
****So good she looked…  
****So good… So warm…  
****So angelic…**

**Everything I wasn't.**

"_The water walks barefoot in the wet streets.  
__From that tree the leaves complain as though they were sick…"_

I stood, gazing at him, my lashes glittering with tears.  
I needed him.  
I needed him!  
I need him so desperately, and he couldn't see…

The tears glittered and fell behind me…

**I gathered her to me, clasped her against my with my desperate, loving arms…**

"_White bee, even when you are gone you buzz in my soul.  
__You live again in time, slender and silent.  
__Ah you who are silent!"_

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Remarks?


	7. Determination

**Drabblebending  
**A Set of _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ Drabblings

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**Self-Control  
**A Zhao Drabble

(Taken/edited from my other fanfiction, "Of Wind and Rain.")

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Commander Zhao thought only of himself.

He enjoyed thinking only of himself, because it meant he reaped all of the benefits of his actions, keeping them to himself. Other people were simply other variables, and many of them couldn't be trusted. The Fire Nation was full of freeloaders who cruised on others' success. Why should he share his achievements with others? Why should he care what happened to them?

He stared out of the window of his personal chambers, watching the shifting darkness of the ocean, the glow of fires around the docks.

_"Next time you get in my way, I promise: I won't hold back."_

Zhao scoffed. Prince Zuko. It was easy to laugh at his childishness now, in the pre-dawn. But even though he pretended he didn't care, he'd been awake all night, unable to sleep after the agni kai. He could still feel the fury knotting in his stomach. The humiliation. The defeat.

His fist clenched and he set his jaw. Zuko had just been lucky. That's all. Next time, he'd show him _real_ firebending. Scary firebending. He'd make Zuko never want to firebend again.

He realized that he was craving some tea.

Across the room, there was an iron stand with grooves running down the sides. He walked over to it, pressing his palm against the far right groove. He took a deep breath, and pushed his hand down, exhaling. The channel lit up, the heat of Zhao's firebending turning it orange, then red. It ran underground and came up on a similar stand in the servants' quarters. Hopefully someone would be awake to see it.

Zhao pulled his hand off of the stand, looking at his palm. This palm had done magnificent things. Some might even call them terrible. He flexed his fingers, noticing many rough calluses, as well as a cut he couldn't remember getting.

With this hand, he would become a legend. He would capture the Avatar, and go down in the history books as the man who single-handedly changed the future of the Fire Nation.

He smiled. _Single-handedly_.

A soft rapping sound came from the door of his chambers. He looked up, pleased and surprised that the kitchen would have responded so fast to his summons.

_They are learning to be punctual._

"Enter," he called. The door creaked open a small bit, then stopped. He frowned, less sure that it was someone from the kitchen. He craned his neck to see who it was.

A soft voice drifted from the cracked door. "M-Master …"

The kitchen girl. He relaxed. "You can bring it here, Airlia." The door opened, slowly, revealing a bowed figure. Zhao noticed she wasn't holding anything. No tray, no tea. He looked past her, perhaps for the old cook, but she wasn't there. His brow creased. "Where is my tea?"

Airlia bowed lower. "I-I … I did not know that Master had requested tea," she whispered. "I came here of my own accord … to ask …"

Her shaking voice suddenly cut off. He noticed that she was trembling.

More importantly, he noticed that it bothered him.

He looked away, uncomfortable. "What is it?" he barked.

She made a small, squeaking sound. Like a little mouse. "Teacher Aneko and I w-were …" she swallowed, "feeding the prisoners last night, and …" She cut off again, and Zhao could hear her fast, shallow breaths. He closed his eyes, trying not to notice. "…a-and I noticed that one of them was… really sick." Her hands were clasped together. "Master… if you… I mean, if Master would be so kind… I think he needs treatment. To be treated."

Her voice faded.

Zhao opened his eyes, staring at the wall, trying to ignore the shivering girl in his periphery. "I am not familiar with this prisoner."

It was a lie. He knew exactly who she was talking about. Jude. Nikko Jude, the war traitor.

She sighed. It was a soft sound. "Oh."

They were both silent.

Then, softly: "Master?"

Zhao looked back at her, expecting to see her bowed low enough to touch her forehead to the ground.

But she was looking directly at him.

He was startled. "Yes?"

"May I bring him some medicine? The prisoner?" Her voice was still soft, but it wasn't shaking anymore.

Zhao sighed, looking at her hopeful, young eyes. He felt no compassion. Just pity.

"He will die in prison eventually. You must see that you're prolonging his suffering."

"Please, let me help him," she whispered. "Please, Master."

He couldn't look at her eyes. They were so soft, so loving. He couldn't look at her when he knew he could never understand her feelings. To be able to love someone like this; to care about a suffering stranger. He'd never known such a feeling. He'd never _wanted_ to know such a feeling.

Not until this moment.

He sighed, refusing to acknowledge the warmth that was growing in his chest. He knew it would fade away if he ignored it. It always did.

"Speak to the steward. I know he is awake by now. Tell him I've sent you. He'll give you access to what you need." Zhao was leaving this compound, anyway. He would be searching for the Avatar, not keeping track of prisoners. A new commander would come. A new commander could deal with Nikko Jude, healthy or not.

Airlia bowed low. "Oh, Master… Thank you, Master…"

Zhao watched the top of her head. She was keeping her face turned down again, not looking at him.

He couldn't see her eyes.

He didn't want to see them.

"Look at me, Airlia," he blurted, before he knew he was speaking.

She looked up, surprised, her dark eyes wide.

He could see it all there. Her hope and her propensity to love. Her innocence. Her dreams. Broken dreams, he'd wager.

And he knew what she saw when she looked at him.

A stone heart. Ferocity. Blankness where there should be some form of emotion.

Any form of emotion.

But he'd worked hard to kill his feelings. Even now, he was killing the warmth that was bubbling back up.

"You may go," he said.

And by the time she was gone, his heart was cold again.

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I want to do more about Zhao.  
I enjoy thinking that maybe he's a broken person.  
And maybe we're not sure why he's broken. Maybe that's why he feels nothing.  
Maybe that's why he's so bad, because obviously he is very, very bad.  
But usually people are bad for a reason.


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